


Dirty

by LeesaCrakon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mr. Dowling isn’t a douche for once, Non-Consensual Fingering, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Mr. Dowling, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Harassment, Trauma, Traumatized Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 12:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19723747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeesaCrakon/pseuds/LeesaCrakon
Summary: Crowley had once loved taking the shape of a woman. It was freeing, and he’d always felt so graceful and pretty, and dare he say attractive, but it had all been ruined. It made sense to him, now, why the female staff in the Dowling residence would resign so quickly.A.k.a: Crowley is raped





	Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual assault! Please, please be careful and do not read this if you think it will trigger you.

Being a Nanny on its own was hard enough. Crowley had to take care of Warlock, which was enjoyable but most definitely tiresome. The young Antichrist was like any other child; hyper, loved to play, and seemed to have running as his favorite past time. Crowley was almost certain that his time as Ms. Ashtoreth had both completely drained him and yet done wonders for his physical appearance. That could be a curse at times, though.

Crowley heard what the male staff said about him. Well, Nanny Ashtoreth, more like. It made his skin crawl every time he heard their whispers. They wondered how good she was in bed. They joked about pinning her to walls and fucking the bitchiness right out of her. They whispered about her Dominatrix appearance and wondered how she was with a whip. They winked and whistled and suggestively asked for Nanny to spank them; they’d been so bad after all. There’d been many nights Crowley had stayed up sick, bent over the toilet and retching just from the words of these men. He didn’t even want to think about them actually touching him. Crowley remembered bitterly when he had once wished Aziraphale was in his place. Now he’d rather die than watch his angel go through something like this.

Crowley had once loved taking the shape of a woman. It was freeing, and he’d always felt so graceful and pretty, and dare he say attractive, but it had all been ruined. It made sense to him, now, why the female staff in the Dowling residence would resign so quickly. Feeling the hungry eyes of the male staff had Crowley’s skin crawling in no way that hell could ever accomplish. So he wore longer skirts, and switched from leggings to trousers, and wore collars that nearly choked him from how high they were, but nothing worked. The new attire only seemed to spark the hunger in Crowley’s harassers more. No one had tried anything, but Crowley was afraid they would.

The demon’s fears would prove justified, one dark and dreadful night. As Crowley put the young Warlock to bed and made his way down to his own bedroom, he was startled as a hand gripped his wrist. He looked up to see a young man he recognized from the kitchen staff, who’d introduced himself as Timothy Bailey and immediately asked Crowley to peg him. Fighting back the fear threatening to bubble up in his throat, Crowley sneered and snatched his wrist away.

“What are you doing up here, young man? Shouldn’t you be helping the cooks prepare for tomorrow?” Crowley asked briskly, wiping his hand on his skirt as if he’d touched something dirty. Timothy smirked and blocked Crowley from entering his room. Now, Crowley was tall, but he was lanky and lacked muscles whereas Timothy was built like an ox and towered a good two or three inches over him. Crowley swallowed nervously, but quickly regained his composure. “Step aside,” Crowley said coldly, his smooth voice clipped. Timothy’s smirk only grew.

“What, and miss out on all the fun? No, I won’t be having that darling,” Timothy slurred. Oh, perfect, the lad was drunk. That made things a thousand times worse. Crowley attempted to back away only to have his wrists grabbed again. He tried to shout in protest and Timothy slammed him against the wall, forcing his lips on Crowley’s in a painful, bruising kiss. Crowley could have gotten away. He could have fought back. He was a demon, for God’s sake. But as Timothy pinned him against the wall Crowley’s body was filled with numbing terror. He stayed rigid Timothy practically ripped his dress from the collar down to his bosom. He pushed his hands against Timothy’s chest in protest, but that only seemed to entice the younger man further. He grabbed Crowley by the hair and dragged him into his room, his own bedroom, and locked the door behind them. Crowley was shoved onto his bed and he tried to get away but then Timothy was on top of him, jamming a pair of knickers he’d somehow snagged from Crowley’s drawer into the demon’s mouth before straddling him and pinning his arms above him. Crowley trembled with fear. He felt exposed as Timothy dragged his gaze down Crowley’s feminine body, his free hand reaching up to grope one of his breasts. Crowley sobbed and tried to kick Timothy away, but the man above him wasn’t having any of it. He slapped Crowley across the face, hard. His glasses flew off, but Timothy seemed too drunk and too angry to notice Crowley’s eyes.

“I’m in charge here, you bitch,” Timothy hissed, leaning close to Crowley’s ear. Crowley shook like a leaf as Timothy’s hand trailed slowly downward, stopping at the hem of his dress. “But you want this, don’t you? I knew you were a fucking slut, teasing us all with your skirts and refusals. You and that Gardner probably fuck like rabbits. Do you scream for him, Ashtoreth? Does he make you come all over your proper dress and stockings?” Timothy’s hand trailed up Crowley’s leg and carelessly tore through the thin material of his leggings. The demon tried to squeeze his legs shut and break his wrists free from their iron grip, but Timothy held firm and forced his legs open again.

“Please, please stop,” Crowley tried to beg, but his voice was muffled by the makeshift gag. His shook with terror as Timothy’s hand trailed higher, higher, too high until it rested on top of Crowley’s underwear.

“I’m going to make your cunt drip for me,” Timothy said with a dark chuckle. Crowley shook his head wildly and openly sobbed, body shaking, dignity gone, he just wanted it to stop. “Oh I’ll make you feel good, don’t you worry. Just spread your legs nice and wide for me.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and his entire body tensed as Timothy shoved aside his undergarments and forced two fingers inside of him without so much as a warning. Crowley screamed and thrashed and tried to get away, but his assaulter was only encouraged. His fingers dove deeper inside of Crowley and Timothy moaned, and Crowley was horrified to feel the drag of Timothy’s clothed prick against his thigh. Crowley’s body was on fire with pain as Timothy assaulted him mercilessly with his fingers, and he nearly sobbed with relief when they were removed until he heard the soft sound of a zipper.

“S-Stop, please,” Crowley begged, still muffled, and he cringed as Timothy bent down and licked the tears off his face. He opened his mouth to say something terrible in Crowley’s ear when a loud knock sounded on the door.

“Ms. Ashtoreth? I’m sorry it’s late, but may I speak with you?” Both of them froze at the sound of Mr. Dowling’s voice. Timothy glared ferociously at the door before leaning down to Crowley’s ear.

“I’m going to hide in the closet, and you’re going to be a good girl and answer that door for Mr. Dowling without telling him I’m here. If you so much as look my way you’ll pay for it. Is that clear?” Timothy spat. Crowley shook and nodded. Timothy let go of him and pulled the underwear from his mouth, then tucked himself back into his trousers. Crowley gagged slightly and reached for his glasses with a trembling hand, placing them on and then adjusting his underwear and leggings to hide the damage. He waited fearfully for Timothy to enter his closet and stood, shakily, his legs aching as he walked over and unlocked the door. Thaddeus Dowling stood outside waiting impatiently, a cross look on his face.

“There you are! I thought you were going to keep me waiting all day!” The American diplomat did not look amused. Crowley wrung his hands together. He could feel Timothy’s eyes burning a hole in his back. He tensed and pursed his lips.

“I apologize, Mr. Dowling. You caught me just as I was getting into bed so I had to change into something decent,” Crowley lied through his teeth. It had never been so excruciating to lie before. Mr. Dowling immediately flushed.

“Oh, god, no I should be the one apologizing. You work hard all day and you need your- Wait, have you been crying?” Crowley stiffened and his eyes widened beneath his glasses. He’d forgotten to clean his face. “And what’s that on your dress? It looks like…” Mr. Dowling’s voice trailed off and his voice suddenly became firm. “Where is he, Ms. Ashtoreth? I’ll see to it he’s put out immediately.”

“H-He?” Crowley laughed shrilly and smiled wide, eyes panicked. “There’s no he! Just me! As I said before, just getting into bed!” Crowley continued, and he laughed again, but this time he couldn’t keep his shoulders from shaking. Mr. Dowling cast Crowley a sympathetic look and entered the room, making sure not to touch Crowley as he went past. Crowley’s heart pounded rapidly in his chest as his employer scanned the room. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the knickers discarded unceremoniously onto the floor and continued his search. Crowley’s heart stopped when he hesitated over the closet. “There’s nothing here, I promise you,” Crowley insisted weakly, clutching his chest. Oh god, he’d forgotten the rip in the dress. Mr. Dowling had clearly seen-

“Get your hands off me!” Timothy howled as he was dragged from the closet by an enraged Thaddeus. Crowley stumbled back and cowered by the bed as Thaddeus gripped Timothy by the collar. Thaddeus was a small man, shorter than Crowley so tiny compared to Timothy,

“You are dismissed, Bailey,” Mr. Dowling growled. Timothy scoffed.

“You can’t sack me! You need me!”

“I don’t need rapists on my kitchen staff,” Thaddeus responded bluntly. Crowley felt sick and his legs buckled from under him. His managed to sit on the bed, gripping the blankets beneath him tightly until his knuckles turned white. Timothy stared at Mr. Dowling defiantly before finally taking his leave, but not before he lifted Crowley’s trembling chin with a finger and smirked.

“That was fun. We should do it again,” he purred. Crowley shuddered and flinched away, and Dowling stepped between the two of them. Timothy rolled his eyes and put his hands up in a surrendering gesture before strutting out of the room, looking proud as a peacock. As soon as he was gone Crowley broke down into tears, clutching his chest and sobbing. Mr. Dowling had a moment of panic and quickly joined the nanny’s side, careful not to touch her but staying close.

“He’s gone, Ashtoreth, he won’t bother you again,” Thaddeus said firmly. Crowley shook from the force of his sobs and even though every nerve in his body screamed for him not to be touched, touch was bad, touch hurt, he craved comfort so desperately that he flung his arms around the other man’s shoulders and wept into his suit, trembling and gasping. Thaddeus hesitated before awkwardly returning the embrace. “How long has this been going on? Was this the first time he did something like this?” Crowley nodded at Thaddeus’ questions.

“But...but h-he and the rest of the staff would make lewd comments...constantly. I tried to ignore them but I...I was so afraid, and I was right to be afraid, I...I can’t…” Crowley broke down again and he couldn’t speak. He clung to Mr. Dowling like his life depended on it, forgetting the bitter feelings he’d had when he’d never been home and missed his own son growing up. If he cared about something like this, in regard to someone as lowly as a staff member, then truly there was at least a bit of good in the man. Mind you, Thaddeus was rubbish at comfort, as most Americans are, but the effort was enough for Crowley. When his crying died down Crowley pulled away, wiping his eyes with a shaking hand.

“I could go to the police about this, or even get the secret service involved,” Mr. Dowling suggested cautiously, a hand lingering on Crowley’s shoulder. “A man like that shouldn’t be left wandering around. No one deserves what you had to go through.” Crowley swallowed back the lump in his throat and hid the fear threatening to appear. Thaddeus was right, after all. Even if Crowley was afraid, Timothy needed to be stopped. Crowley was a demon, he could handle something like this. A mortal man or woman hardly ever came out of such traumatizing situations with their mentality intact. Crowley’s wasn't either, but he was quite deeply in denial.

“Whatever you want to do,” Crowley said hoarsely. It was tricky, remembering to keep his accent up in a moment such as this. Mr. Dowling nodded, as if that sealed the deal, and got back to his feet. He hesitated as he turned to the door, and glanced back at Ashtoreth for a moment.

“Is there anything I can do for you right now? Perhaps get you someone to talk to? Or a spare room outside of the servants quarters?” Mr. Dowling asked. Crowley clenched his jaw and shook his head curtly. A spare room sounded wonderful, but he couldn’t possibly bother them. Thaddeus sighed and nodded. “Alright, not tonight. But I do insist that you talk to someone eventually. You don’t have to go through this alone.” Crowley could only nod again. Dowling Baid him goodnight and left.

Crowley immediately stripped down and rushed into the bathroom. He took a boiling hot shower, scrubbing viciously at his skin until it was rubbed raw, but nothing he did made him feel clean. He was dirty. Spoiled. Rotten. Crowley could still feel Timothy’s hands touching him, inside him, groping him. His legs trembled and he leaned against the shower wall, the water pounding down and scalding him, but it didn’t help. Crowley bent over the toilet and vomited once, twice, three times. He felt so dirty. He wrapped himself in a towel and curled up on his bed, and wept.


End file.
